Last Chance: A Twist of Gold
by x-MJ-x
Summary: Second part in the 'Last Chances' trilogy. "Harry, do we have to do this again?" She asked, running her hand through her hair and pushing it away from her face. It was a simple action and yet it stopped his train of thought, only for a moment – because there it was. The simple twist of gold symbolising an irreversible change for them. He's got one last chance, can he convince her?


**Hello lovely people, **

**So here comes the second one shot in the trilogy I mentioned, I'm so glad that you like the first one and that many of you have expressed interest in reading the others, it is because of this that this story is appearing so thank you. Your reviews have been really sweet and I'd like to say a big thank you to my guest reviewers, it means a lot that you would take the time to drop me a little message. **

**The title for this one is inspired by the book of the same name by Michael Morpurgo so credit where it's due, but I must stress the content of this bears no resemblance to the plot of the book: At all. **

**My author's note remains the same as ever: I DO NOT own Silent Witness, its characters or plots and all recognisable dialogues will be clearly marked in italics. **

**I hope you enjoy this and will let me know what you think.**

* * *

He put the lid back on his pen and tossed it onto the desk having signed off on his latest PM report. It was almost the end of the day and he was certainly looking forward to the big hand settling itself on the twelve, to put things simply. It wasn't that today's post mortems had been particularly taxing, it wasn't even that he hadn't had help – it was just _who_ had helped him. He didn't quite know why, but today, he had found it especially difficult to be around her. The air between them had been tense and he had been frustrated in more ways than one and the worst of it? She hadn't even noticed. She had just continued to go about her work as if nothing had changed. But something had changed. At least it had for him.

He sighed, trying his best to keep the exhalation in given the heavy silence which filled the room. To him, this was yet another sign of an altered dynamic between them, but to her, it was just what was necessary in order for her to get those last words of her own PM report finished in time for six 'o' clock knock off. Since he had finished his work before her by some rare miracle, he used the time before he could legitimately log off and go home to engage with one of his favourite past times – watching her. He had done it so often now that he couldn't really say when it had started. Hadn't he always had a fascination with watching her though – right from the moment they had met? Hadn't he been transfixed by the wildly unprincipled girl whose idea of the acceptable was to brush her teeth in a sterile lab? Hadn't she always amazed him with her carelessness over social norms, about the expected? To all of these questions, there was only one answer. Yes. What about now? What did he see almost eight years after their initial acquaintance? This was something a little more complex to organise in his mind but something which was no less simple to answer. He saw her. After all the years of seeing her as a colleague and friend, he was finally seeing her as a woman. It was as if his vision had been cleared and suddenly he had been woken to her true nature. He supposed it was a work of divine intervention, some twisted stroke of fate that the year he had finally come to his senses, she too had changed, had moved away from him: Cosmic payback, karmic luck – not that he believed in any of that, but it made a lot of sense given his current predicament.

He lent forward onto the heel of his hand, careful to steady his breathing as he silently observed her in the low, wintry sunshine which managed to filter its way through the high windows of the Lyell Centre. He was hardly an 'old romantic' at heart and he would certainly never be caught dead reciting poetry, but in those moments, he thought he could certainly understand how Shelley and Keats had discovered their inspiration, found themselves a muse. It was something about the whole scene and the way she fit into it. There she sat at _his_ desk, her chin propped delicately on her right hand, whilst her left hand had slid its way into her hair, pushing it into the rays of sunshine which flooded the office in the early evening. She stared straight ahead at her screen unseeingly as if she too was searching for some kind of inspiration. Eventually however, she hit print with a sigh and drummed her fingers against the wood of the desk as she waited for the document to appear on the tray. He couldn't help but notice as she slid from her chair and moved towards the printer just to her right, how beautiful she was in her knitted dress and calf-length boots but it was her hair which at that moment seemed to possess mesmeric qualities. As she tossed it over her shoulder and leant towards the papers which were gradually accruing on the flatbed of the printer, her hair could be described less as her usual tumble of blonde curls and more as pure, fine twists of gold which seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Yes, he could just imagine it now. A poem spouting from that very observation:

'_O ageing prune so fine_

_Thy hair doth sparkle like gold newly mined.' _

Now he was just getting carried away. This was precisely why she managed to catch him out, despite all his efforts to view her with indifference.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare Harry?" She asked a small giggle in her throat as she hurriedly signed off her report and swivelled around to face him, her eyes serious and somehow managing to hold his own gaze against his better judgement – he should have looked away by now. That would have been the right thing to do.

"Staring? Who was staring?"

"You were Dr Cunningham." She told him, wondering how he was going to worm his way out of this one.

"Yes... well... I was just thinking what an interesting knitted... _thing_ that is you're wearing." Of course he hadn't really been looking at her dress at all, although now he took note of it; she really did look good in it.

"Thing? Oh you mean my dress? 'Interesting'? That's an _interesting_ word – don't you like it?" She asked, suddenly becoming self conscious which hadn't been his intention at all.

"I like it very much." He told her, knowing that his voice gave away far too much emotion.

She smiled a little, although whether it was out of appreciation of his compliment or embarrassment at the fact that he had noticed at all, he couldn't tell. "Well it's new..." She paused to take a breath and he took advantage of this, quickly changing the subject before she could finish the sentence with the inevitable ending he could sense.

"What are you doing tonight? Come round for a drink." His question, courteously allowing her to decline, was quickly followed up with an instruction before she could object.

"Harry..."

"Come on Nikki, I never see you anymore." He sounded like a petulant child, he felt like one too.

"You see me every day at work. I know we don't see each other socially as much as we used to, but you know things are different now – they have to be."

"I'm not asking for the world and _I'm_ certainly not trying to monopolise your time. All I'm asking for is that you come over for one drink." He told her, unable to remove the sarcasm from his voice.

"I know what you're trying to say Harry, there's no need for the sarcastic tone you know." She told him, the reply coming out through clenched teeth.

"Well if you weren't always busy, I wouldn't have to be sarcastic." He muttered.

She looked as if she was about to snap, to tear his head from his shoulders but then she seemed to think better of it and she let out a sigh to relieve the tension before speaking. "Look, I'm sorry. I know I haven't exactly been around for you much recently and I would love to have a drink with you but tonight I have that thing... I have to go to the dry cleaners on the way home and then I have to meet..."

He cut across her again, finishing the sentence after predicting what it would be "Julian." The way he said the name spoke of exactly how he felt about the man to whom that name belonged.

She let out a tired sounding sigh as she sensed the impending descent into familiar territory. "Harry, do we have to do this again?" She asked, running her hand through her hair and pushing it away from her face. It was a simple action and yet it stopped his train of thought, only for a moment – because there it was. The reason why everything had changed, the reason why she was further from him now than she had ever been, the reason why they could never be together and it had all been changed by that man, _Julian. _It wasn't huge, it wasn't overstated but the end of 'Harry and Nikki, Nikki and Harry' as he was comfortable viewing them, was symbolised by that simple twist of gold.

"I didn't say anything." He mumbled although he knew his tone and expression had done more than enough talking.

"You didn't have to, you never do. I know you don't like Julian."

He scoffed a little, to say he didn't like the other man was a slight understatement. To Harry, Julian Grayson was the sole reason for everything that was wrong with his relationship with Nikki. Not only had she become a seemingly irreversibly different person, concerned with everything material and almost nothing sentimental since becoming engaged to public relations manager Julian, but she had also lost the ability to entertain even the smallest amount of time for the man she claimed was her best friend and he was entirely put out by this. "What do you want me to say? You're not wrong there and you know it." He told her, his chin jutting defensively.

"Finally, some honesty! You know Julian can't tell if he's coming or going with you – one time he'll get sarcastic Harry and the next he'll get nice as pie Harry. If you don't like him, at least be straight with him about that." She snapped.

"That would be easy, believe me. But have you ever stopped to consider why I don't Nikki, have you?" His voice rose an octave.

"Go on then, what excuse do you have? I'm sure I've heard them all by now. _'I'm just tired Nikki', 'I don't want to get in your way Nikki', 'it's just not my scene Nikki'_. Well you know what Harry? I'm tired of it so go on, you explain to me why you're not as frank with Julian as you have been with all the other men who by your discerning eye and critical taste have been all wrong for me." She shouted and although she realised the way that things had quickly escalated from a joke to an argument as was becoming common for them recently, she could not find it in herself to back down first, not this time.

"I don't tell Julian that his presence irritates the hell out of me, that his voice makes my skin crawl and his money makes me want throw up because I don't want to lose you Nikki. He's already put enough stipulations on the time I can spend with you, you think if I was completely honest with you, with him, he wouldn't just go and forbid you from speaking to me at all – insist that you leave here? You think that we could still be friends after that?"

"Harry, Julian has not, nor would he ever, forbid me from seeing you and spending time with you – that's a ridiculously unfounded accusation."

"Is it?" He almost blasted "when was the last time we did anything outside of work – besides fight?" He shot the question at her, knowing that she wouldn't be able to recall the last time.

"I... I don't know. But that doesn't prove anything Harry. I'm not single anymore, I can't drop everything for you on a whim like I used to. My situation has changed and things have to be different now. I thought you understood that." She seemed crestfallen.

"Your situation? What exactly is that?"

"I'm getting married Harry. I'm getting married and you agreed to be in this wedding, you _agreed_."

"Why do you think that is? Not for him and certainly not to watch you marry another man and live a shambolic life."

"Shambolic! How dare you?" She raged.

"Well, tell me you don't think it is. Parties almost every night, designer handbags, a top of the range Lexus, no free time in your buzzing social calendar. Those things aren't you Nikki, they're him." He seemed disappointed in her somehow and that made her anger intensify.

"_Not me_? Whereas scrubs and rubber-soles are? How _dare_ you tell me what defines me? Maybe things _are _different for me now and maybe you're right – I would have never had this lifestyle if I hadn't met Julian and maybe the fancy car, the new clothes aren't the Nikki Alexander you're comfortable with, but they're important to Julian so they're important to me too. Those things you're so critical of, they're what make a life and they're us – Julian and I. You know, I tried to defend you when Julian questioned your role in my life, but now I'm starting to think he was right." She told him, pausing to catch her breath.

"Right about what?"

"About the fact that I don't need someone like you in my life anymore. Someone opinionated... someone...jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Yes. _Yes_ jealous. Julian hates the way you try to monopolise me – whatever you might think – But I told him he was wrong, that you would _never_ try to detract my attention from him and that you were just protective of me in the way that friends are supposed to be. But now I can see that you're not being protective anymore, it's jealousy -all this is jealousy. I thought Julian was seeing things wrongly when he..." She broke off, knowing she had said too much, things that she could never take back.

"No, don't stop on account of oh I don't know – my feelings. Please, do tell, what does 'Julian the Great' think of me?" He asked, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"He thinks... Maybe it is stupid... But he thinks, God it _is_ stupid. He thinks you love me that you're _in_ love with me." Her voice was defeated and she appeared broken.

Maybe she had expected rage, denial, more questions perhaps. But of all possible reactions, silence, complete and utter silence had not been expected at all.

"Looks like he's not as stupid as he seems then." Harry told her, his voice gruff and exhausted with emotion. His eyes bored into hers for a moment but before she could process what he had said, he was gone.

* * *

Alone in the Lyell centre, her mind completely spinning from the huge argument she had just had with her best friend and more importantly, left reeling from his closing statement, she slid down into her chair again, her legs suddenly jelly-like.

"_Looks like he's not as stupid as he seems then." _

Could that mean -? Did he-? Was that really what Harry had meant and if it was, did that change anything or would she still go ahead with her future?

* * *

Harry Cunningham was decidedly merry, perhaps too merry given his recent argument with her, but perhaps his merriment had to do with the bottle and a half of Blossom Hill and two cans of Stella he had consumed since he had gotten back to his flat after having stormed out of the Lyell centre a little over half an hour ago.

He knew he shouldn't be drinking heavily, he had work tomorrow after all, but the drink was the only thing which was drowning out the embarrassing memory of having put his heart on the line, finally, for a woman who would not, who could not reciprocate his feelings. He felt mildly stupid knowing that he had a woozily skewed perception after having drunk his way through bottles of Blossom Hill – something he had foolishly stocked up on under the impression that he could coax her round for a drink. It didn't matter. He would just keep drinking until he could no longer see, allow himself to pass out and then wake up, jog to work and pretend that nothing had changed. That was what she had been doing and with the aid of alcohol, he could similarly suppress the feelings he had thought were long dormant but which now raged to the surface of his heart. He thought this was a stellar plan, a stellar plan which deserved to be celebrated with another can of Stella Artois. Excellent.

* * *

Maybe an hour had passed and he was just starting to feel that warm, fuzzy feeling he knew would bring him sweet escape. He hadn't drunk as much as an onlooker would suspect he had but the emotional strain of his argument with Nikki was taking its toll and he was tired. About as tired as he had been since she had become engaged ten months ago and now he was most definitely tired of trying to make it through a day without having an outburst such as the one he had had earlier, hence the persistent embarrassment he now felt despite the alcohol.

He stared straight ahead at the television which he must have flipped on at some indiscernible point since he had been home and had a little giggle to himself as he saw Zosia Nolan's face appear on some entertainment news programme. This occurrence was nothing out of the ordinary, she was on the news almost every night but what was amusing was that she was one of Julian's 'creations'. Having won a guest role on _Eastenders _after participating in some reality TV programme or other, she had become one of the most successful silver screen actresses of the age and she had been pictured and heard many times singing the praises of 'darling Julian' without whom she would still be working in whichever fast food chain she now shuddered to think of. What simultaneously saddened him and made him angry was that Nikki had often mentioned with a regretful tone was that 'darling Julian' said Zosia's name possibly fifty times more in a day than he did hers and Harry knew there was something wrong if the man didn't appreciate a woman as amazing as Nikki Alexander.

As if on cue in the middle of the entertainment news, up popped an image of Julian, slicked back blonde hair and artificially sparkling teeth and all next to the red headed Zosia as the pair gushed on about some event happening later tonight to celebrate the launch of the latter's latest solo pilot episode of some rom-com soap style thing or other. Harry wondered briefly whether this was the 'thing' Nikki had turned him down for and he wondered whether she would be receiving half the attention that he would have given her if she went to the launch party at the swanky night club he knew would not be_ her _scene. He turned off the television, sufficiently bored from watching the lives of the rich and temporarily famous and wondered what he should do now. What he really wanted to was call her, apologise, make her laugh, make everything Ok between them again, but he thought that he should probably let things cool down and work out what he wanted to say to her before he did so. So what now? Drinking more seemed ridiculous, despite his earlier game plan and he didn't think he could stomach turning the television back on. What to do, what to do? Cooking. He had always found it strangely cathartic and he _was_ hungry but what to cook? Suddenly he knew. He would cook half of the meal that he had planned to cook for him and Nikki and get used to the idea of doing everything for one, until he got over her enough to start a life with someone new.

* * *

He turned on the oven, rooting around in the cupboard to find some olive oil before reaching for the bag of Maris Pipers he had picked up last night – only the best for Nikki. He had prepped the rib-eye steak he had spent an arm and a leg on, knowing it was her favourite – well done, with a little garlic and was just quartering potatoes ready to throw into his garlic, rosemary and olive oil dressing when he heard the door buzz. At first he tried to pretend that it was just a change in the riff of the music he was listening to, but it became insistent and he could no longer ignore it. For a moment he abandoned the potatoes and crossed to the intercom, buzzing the visitor through without once asking who it was, that much was obvious.

He went back to the potatoes, knowing it would take her several minutes to climb the stairs – she refused to use the lift for some reason unbeknown to him– to his eleventh floor flat. He placed them in the oven then tossed in the extra steak he had taken the liberty to prepare despite what he had assumed would be her absence and then set about filling a glass with some of the contents of the new bottle of wine he now opened. He refrained from pouring himself one, for obvious reasons and stood by the kitchen island, waiting.

It took her less time than he imagined it would to reach his floor and pretty soon, she was hammering on the door, whilst he tried to ignore it for as long as possible in order to feign at least the semblance of being busy. He didn't want it to look like he had been waiting for her, even if that was true.

"Harry open this bloody door! I know you're in there, you buzzed me in you bloody idiot!" She yelled and he stifled a giggle as he unlatched the door.

"Alright, alright – no need to shout." He told her casually as he opened the door. He had planned to follow this up with some outrageously witty comment, but the way that she looked completely erased all thoughts of this from his mind. He tried not to let his mouth loll open, tried to focus on stringing a sentence together, but he was completely at a loss and she took advantage of that.

"What was that about Harry?" She asked, her voice almost desperate as she walked into the flat and he closed the door behind her.

"What was what about?" He asked, knowing that he couldn't keep this up for long, even if her perfume, her presence and the alcohol he had consumed were all combining to make things a little bit confusing.

"You know what and I'm asking you, what did it mean?" She asked accepting the glass he silently offered and draining half of it immediately.

"You know what I meant. A more important question seems to be, where are you going?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I told you, I have a thing and don't change the subject." She told him snippily.

"Oh a thing... A _launch party_ type of thing?"

"How did you-? Oh the _Pizzazz_ report. Yes, as it happens. What about you? Expecting company?" She asked, a little hopefully perhaps, casting her eyes around the room and noting his culinary efforts. Maybe he had just been angry, maybe he had moved on after all.

He shook his head 'no', then nodded 'yes'. "Only you." The two words caused her body to shake with something she had not felt in a long time. Possibility. Desire. How was it that this man could in two words, make her feel more special than her fiancé could in two hundred? She shook her head, clearing her thoughts – she had to stay focused.

"I told you 'no'." She said, her voice tight.

"... and yet here you are." He was aiming for that mysterious tone he knew people used in these situations, but he suspected he had failed if her laughter was anything to go by, or maybe that was a sign of success.

"I didn't come here to eat – I came here to... I had a bit of time, I suppose I wanted to clear the air." She told him.

"Be a shame to waste it."

"I have to go soon, Julian will be waiting." She told him, grimacing at his darkened features.

"Why are you marrying him?" The question came out before he had time to think about it. He wanted to say it was the alcohol but he knew it came from a different place altogether, genuine curiosity. It was the one question he'd wanted answered for ten months and which in the plethora of questions he had asked her, he'd never gotten round to.

"We have to stop fighting, we're friends. I want you to be my friend." She seemed quite insistent, he knew that she was trying to convince herself that they weren't supposed to be anything more, perhaps this meant she sensed there could be a chance for them after all.

He shook his head and then barraged onwards with his assault. "Why are you marrying him?" He asked again.

"Harry..."

"_Why_ are you marrying him?"

"For God's sake Harry! I'm marrying him because it's time to settle down now."

"Not because you love him?" It seemed like she had shocked him.

"That's a given, I'm marrying him because he's one of the few men who puts up with the science thing."

"Puts up with it? He doesn't love it, love that you're a beautiful brainiac?" She blushed and drained the rest of her wine, searching frantically for the bottle before helping herself to another glass. She supposed her discomfort had something to do with the fact that he had used the word beautiful so easily, so comfortably when the most she got out of Julian these days was 'you're a fox'.

"He finds pathology boring, doesn't understand it."

"There are people out there who love you because of the science."

"Ok, where are these people?" She asked with a sardonic laugh.

"You're looking at him." He murmured, stepping a little bit closer to her and noticing the small step back she took. "I mean it Nikki, if you hadn't walked into the Lyell Centre forcing yourself into the heart of our dear Professor, I never would have met you, I never would have gotten to experience the way you make me feel." He told her and she could tell that he was serious - that everything he said, he meant.

"I have to go, it's getting late."

"When he proposed what did he say?"

"That's private."

"Private because it was intimate and personal, or private because it wasn't?"

"I..."

"What did he tell you Nikki?"

"Harry... please..."

"Did he tell you he loves you? Has he ever?

"He loves the way we look together, loves what people say about us."

"But he doesn't love you?"

"I don't know."

"Do you love him?"

"Harry..."

"Do you love him Nikki, I need to know..."

"Why?"

"I need to know if there's even..."

"Don't say it. Please don't say it..." She begged desperately.

They were silent for a moment and all that could be heard was the crackle of the steak which was probably so far past well-done by now. He let out a little sigh and resigned himself to the fact that he might have pushed her too far.

"So, is that really what you're wearing to your 'thing'?" He asked running his eye over her outfit again.

Now that she had unbelted her coat, he could truly appreciate how amazing she looked. She was all legs and pale, shimmering skin in her sky high black heels, green silk and lace pencil skirt and diamante studded bustier. God, she was beautiful and she carried this look off perfectly, she was stunning and he wondered if her _so called _fiancé would even notice at all.

"Julian selected it, it complements the suit he'll be wearing." She sighed, feeling suddenly self conscious again. "Why, what's wrong with it?"

"He _selected_ it? Didn't ask your opinion on it? Rented it but didn't buy it for you?" Harry seemed to choke on the words but then he looked at her face, saw that she recognised how imperfect this all was and changed tract. "That is the only thing wrong with this outfit Nikki. You look great." He told her, holding back for a moment before adding, "_It suits you."_ He watched her blush and knew that either she was lacking in compliments or she was just not used to receiving this kind of praise from him, the best friend who always made a joke of everything – he hoped it was the latter, he hoped that her embarrassment was a recognition of the way things were shifting between them, in the right direction.

"Stop it."

"No, really I mean it. You look great – always do." He insisted and her blush seemed to deepen.

"Harry..." Her pause seemed to indicate that she was mustering the courage to say something important, but then her eye caught sight of something over his shoulder. "Your steaks are burning." She deadpanned and it took him a moment to process what she had said.

"What?"

"I said, your steaks are burning." She repeated again, just as the first spark of a flame started to ignite.

"Oh bloody hell!" He exclaimed rushing towards the oven with a pair of oven gloves his mother had had the good humour to purchase for him at Christmas. Oh he definitely looked like a man's man right now – in his dreams.

He quickly dealt with the dinner, the ruined dinner – throwing both the charred steaks and quickly spoiling potatoes out, all to the delicious accompaniment of her laughter – which was a good sign.

He turned back around to face her and she tried her best to stifle her laughter – to little effect. He scowled at her then redirected their conversation back to its previous path. "Did I ever tell you how sexy you are when you laugh?" He asked in all seriousness.

"Harry! Please..." She muttered her embarrassment.

"Why are you here Nikki, when you should be at some swanky party? What do you want from me?" He asked, defeated.

"I... I don't..."

"Because if it's this... awkward friendship for the rest of our lives, I just don't think I can do it anymore. It's too hard. If this is how we end, then please – tell me because I can't keep sitting here, wondering whether today is going to be the day that you say it's over between us. All this, we have_ all _this and I know you're going to leave it behind, but I just don't understand why or when – I don't know if you even do either." He released a long sigh and he looked at her with pained eyes she could longer ignore.

"It's not as simple as all that."

"It's as simple as what you want Nikki, that's the way I see it. So just tell me, what do you want?"

"Harry, all you've done is fire questions at me, all night. Do you think it's easy for me to think straight when every answer I give you just sparks a new question?"

"Ok, one last question then. What do you want? That's all I want to know."

"Then you'll be waiting a long time to find the answer..."

"Why? Just put me out of my misery..."

"Harry..."

"No, Nikki no more games..."

"Harry listen..."

"Nikki..."

"Harry! Shut up and listen to me!" She raised her voice before closing the gap between them and pressing her body close to his.

"I can't tell you what I want so..." She broke off moving her head just a fraction of an inch towards his...

"Nikki! Would you excuse me just for a minute?" He asked, his voice strangled and before she could answer him, he was gone.

* * *

Mouthwash. That was what he needed. He was almost completely sure that she had been about to kiss him, no there was no almost about it. She _had_ been about to kiss him. Nikki Alexander, his best friend and the woman he loved had been about to kiss him and when, no_ if_ she did again after he had run from her, he knew he did not want to taste like a brewery. So where was the mouthwash?

* * *

After having satisfactorily sorted himself out, he turned back towards the kitchen where she had last been, hoping upon hope that she was still there. When he got back, he was more than pleased to find that she most certainly was there.

* * *

She was perched atop his work surface the way she often had been before when she had come here. He didn't know why- perhaps it was the outfit – but she looked different, more comfortable there than anywhere else in the house and he had to take a breath to control the fantasy which quickly threatened to interrupt this moment.

"Better?" She asked casually, although her voice was a little tighter than it had been before.

"Yeah."

"Ok Harry. This is it. You have one last chance to give me a reason to take this off." She raised her hand and flashed her ring at him.

He shot her a confused look before replying "what?" He sounded dumbfounded.

"You heard me Harry, this is your last chance to give me a reason to take this off – to end things with Julian. If you can't, I'll walk out of here and go to that party – I'll forget this ever happened and we'll carry on as normal. Your choice."

"You're serious?"

"Deadly." She replied, reaching into her bag and switching off her phone, it was an unnecessary distraction now.

"Well then I have a very simple reason for you to take that ring off. I love you Nikki. That's all I can offer you. My heart, right now that's the most valuable thing I can give you. I just... I love you." He repeated, running a hand through his thick, unkempt hair out of nervous embarrassment.

* * *

They were silent for a moment and she regarded him from her vantage point atop the work surface. Perhaps she had been expecting him to offer her a cop-out, perhaps that was why she was so shocked right now, but she certainly hadn't ever imagined that his feelings were real or true. Or maybe she had always suspected that but just never thought that he would admit to them, but he had and now he watched her with an unwavering gaze, wondering, she supposed, if she would uphold her end of the bargain.

She did not even need a moment's contemplation, she knew that this was the real reason why she had come here instead of staying on course and heading to the party and she knew that her mind was made up...

The next sound which passed in a room so buzzing with noise that it seemed as if their thoughts had voices which were competing for audience, was the sound of the metallic bounce of her ring as it hit the marble work top – a forgotten remnant of a life not even entered into as she looked at him intently, realising that her face was flushed with anticipation and dare she think it? With lust.

"You know Harry, I've never really thought about this in great detail, but I have waited possibly my entire adult life for you to tell me you love me the way I love you. It's _about _time..." She told him, sliding off the counter with the finesse of a feline and landing perfectly on the points of her heels.

* * *

She kept eye contact with him from the moment she hit the floor, noting the way that his eyes seemed to roam her face, searching for any hint that she was taking him for a ride and she accordingly made sure that she adopted a serious expression which told him that she meant it. He muttered a reply but honestly, she couldn't say that she recalled what it was, even though only seconds had passed since it had been uttered but frankly she wasn't considering his verbal responses so she paid them no heed. Instead, she was fascinated by the way his tongue peeked through his lips, moistening them as he struggled for words and she was too intent on listening to his bodily reactions – the tightness of his breathing, the clearing of his throat – it was like a symphony only for her.

She didn't try to reply because to do so without knowing what he had said to her would have been foolish, so instead she continued to advance on him until they were finally level. It was only then, at this somewhat definitive stage that she faltered a moment, hesitation clouding her judgement. Eventually though she reached out for him, her tentative hand connecting with his torso. It was something she had done on many previous occasions but which now seemed to hold a new significance because this time, she did not intend to hug him, at least not if she could help it.

It was as if this contact ignited a fire within her and once she had connected with the intense electricity which seemed to fly between them, she could not help herself. She used their small connection to pull herself closer until the soft curvature of her own body met gratifyingly with the hard, tense muscles of his chest and that was it. She knew. This was her life now, being with him, like this. Her hand slid savagely from his waist into his hair and her manicured nails scratched at his head, clawing at him until she had pulled his head close enough for their lips to touch.

It was not a small, timid or even particularly loving kiss, but it intoxicated Nikki Alexander, for whom kisses had recently been for show and she realised that only this man, only Harry could make her feel this way. All those years ago she had felt the flickering of passion in that tiny kiss, but this was something else altogether.

She took the lead, her lips guiding her, telling her as well as him what they wanted, what they craved. She started fairly slowly, trying hard to control herself but she couldn't ignore the building urgency which rose between them. After several long minutes of laboured, long opened mouthed hot kisses, she thrust her tongue between his teeth and into the cavern beyond with wicked speed and stroked furiously at the walls of his mouth, tangling, coaxing pulling him towards her, forcing their connection to become deeper, more potent. At first, it felt to her like he was going to refuse to respond but eventually she felt his hands on her body in a way she never had before – free, wild and roaming desperate even in their attempt to know her. After the longest time, despite wanting nothing less, she had to break apart from him, breath frustratingly having left her body as a result of her need to hold onto him, to never let him go. Still, in her selfishness she wasn't ready to release him, so took advantage of their closeness and began nipping at his lips, taking breaths between each kiss she pressed to his mouth.

"I love _you _Harry..." She murmured into his ear as her polished fingertips raked their way down his body, her thumb carelessly flicking the top button of his dark shirt loose. "You know that _don't_ you? You believe me?" She asked, planting a kiss to his jaw as she blindly went to work on the next button and the next.

"Nikki..."

"I mean it. That was the whole reason I accepted the proposal anyway. I couldn't keep waiting for you and I couldn't risk telling you how I felt in case you broke my heart so I accepted, hoping that jealousy would be enough. Do you forgive me?"

"Nikki... I could never forgive you for something you haven't done. This is my fault for never having the nerve to admit how I feel about you. You have to believe me, I want this, want you more than anything but we have to do this properly. As much I don't like the guy, we have to think of Julian." Harry told her grabbing her wrists and halting her actions against the greater desires of his heart.

"I know, you're right but can't we just have tonight, just this one night to only think about us? I promise first thing I'll tell Julian – he's at the party anyway. He won't even miss me." She told him with a dry laugh.

"Then he's a fool." He told her lowering his head and drawing her in for another kiss.

* * *

In their passion, to say things became heated would have been an understatement. Both of them were driven by the years of denial and pent up desire, both of them knew that this was truly their last chance and both knew that they could not waste it. She was practically wrapped around him, her body pressed so tightly to him that she could feel every sinew of his muscles, every minute reaction of his body and she knew that she was in control of him. He yielded to her, he submitted and it was for this reason that he did not fight her as she pressed him against the bookcase, working deftly to divest him of his shirt and run her hands over the hard chest she had often fantasised about.

Now and then as she tugged at his clothes and huffed in frustration when she was not achieving the results she had been expecting, he seized her jaw pulling her mouth onto his for another kiss, sometimes light and loving and at other times bruising and deep. As she worked, pulling his shirt down the arms which he kept tightly wound around her, she felt herself losing control, to such an extent that she almost thrust him against the numerous tomes on the shelves as she tore at his button and zip. He cried out at the discomfort feeling the gilded edge of some book or other stab against his now bare back and then groaned outright as a heavy volume fell from the shelf at hit him squarely on the head.

"Mmpph..." He muttered, his hand rubbing the affected spot immediately.

She pulled back a little, startled by the tumbling book and his quick reaction but she could not refrain from allowing a smile to settle on her face. "Sorry..." she told him although it wasn't entirely convincing "I'm sorry." She said again, kissing his cheeks, his eyes and his lips but the sincerity of her apology was lessened by her laughter.

"Seems like it." He grumbled.

"Oh..." She paused, kissing the top of his poor head "I'm sure I can repay you, somehow..."

"Yes, I'm sure you can." He told her, his eyes flashing as he tugged her hand and pulled her away from the wall, the sound of her laughter almost musical as they made their way down the hall.

* * *

Her laughter had not diminished in the slightest even as they made it to the bedroom and faced the imminent change in their relationship this step necessarily created for them. The seductive music of that laugh remained owing to the fact that during the course of the short journey, Harry's trousers, which she had taken the liberty to unfasten a short while ago, had begun to fall down until such time as they were pooled at his knees and he had almost lost his balance.

Whilst Nikki was highly amused by this turn of events, Harry couldn't have been more mortified if he had tried and he thought himself to be at a severe disadvantage in terms of seduction, something he was careful to tell her. "It's alright for you," he huffed, "you look amazing. I have looked nothing but an idiot all night." He muttered.

"That's not true, I think you're charming." She placated.

"Charming?" He tested the word, "not handsome?" He seemed put out.

"Well yes, that too." She conceded. "So tell me..." She paused, sliding the clip she wore in her hair loose and letting her curls tumble free "how can I make this up to you?" She asked, her hands moving to her hips and sliding her skirt down a little. "Does this even go some way to making you feel better?" She asked as it pooled at her feet and she stood there opposite him in her lacy French knickers, silk bustier and killer heels, waiting for his reaction.

She was all creamy, shimmering skin and black luxury lingerie as she stood there motionless beneath his penetrating stare, her chest heaving as she waited, patiently allowing his eyes to wander.

He swallowed hard. She was more beautiful than he had ever been capable of imagining in his fantasies and she was sexy in way that only the real, living breathing Nikki Alexander could be and she was offering herself, like this, to him. What was wrong with this picture? Surely this was some sort of joke? But in spite of the thousand times he tried to blink himself awake, she still stood there, a shy and yet seductive smile playing across her lips as she awaited judgement. "Ye... Yes... It does." He told her, barely able to scrape together the words to form a reply.

His voice was so thick, so full of lust that she shook with waves of her own equally salacious desire. "Good and um, if I do this..." She paused going for the first hook and eye on the bustier and unfastening it "does that help?" She asked, watching the way he squirmed on the spot, clearly itching to be closer to her than she was allowing him to be.

"Nikki..."

"Yes?" Her tone was playful.

"Come here please." He instructed, his voice suddenly surprisingly calm.

"Why?"

"Just... Please..." He was more insistent this time, his voice accordingly more strained.

She took the few steps necessary to close the gap between them and she rewarded his resilience with a kiss, which had admittedly been as much for her benefit as for his. "Is something the matter Harry?" She asked, teasing him all the while.

"Yes." He told her, dipping his head to the perfumed hollow at the base of her throat, a place that unfailingly smelt of her – that indistinguishable mixture of the heady perfume he could never quite identify and something else, perhaps her body lotion or perhaps just the sweetness of her skin which always made him feel like he was where he was supposed to be. This was precisely the feeling he got right now as he noted how his attention to the sensitised skin there made her moan with pleasure "_I_ should be doing that." He told her firmly, his hand, shaking slightly but commanding nonetheless, reaching for the fastening of her bustier.

His head dipped further still to the silky crest of her cleavage, his lips and slightly stubbly chin creating a dual sensation for Nikki which turned her quiet cry into a loud groan. He made short, unconscious work of the silk, parting it with gentle hands as his lips continued their strangely knowing journey of discovery. So fixated was he, so caught up in the moment, in this perfect fragment of time – something he had longed for more than anything else in years that it was not until he started to regain conscious thought that he noticed the blindingly obvious. There were no further barriers to his caresses, her skin was unmarred by the distraction of a bra – there was only an expanse of smooth pale delight, awaiting his exploration.

"You're..." He faltered, searching for the words which would not make him sound completely inept "beautiful." He settled on finally because this was the complete truth.

She pulled him close, initiating a skin-to-skin contact which felt Heavenly to them both, her lips crushing against his as she fulfilled the deep, throbbing desire to kiss him again. "Make love to me Harry, please... Make love to me." She murmured, the words no more than a breathless whisper.

* * *

He needn't have given her a reply, in fact no words were necessary after that – only actions. In one swift motion he scooped her stunning, yielding and fragile body towards him, cradling her close as he lifted her into his arms and carried her the short distance towards the bed. This seemed a little unnecessary but there had been something in her eyes in those seconds after she had uttered those words he had longed to hear, which made him want to protect her, a feeling which was not new. He propped her against the pillows as if she was something breakable – to him she was – and he set to work immediately upon the task of divesting her of those shoes, those high, sexy shoes he could imagine featuring in endless hours of bedroom exploits with this woman, but they were not for tonight.

They stared at each other intensely, not speaking and yet, saying so much. Both of them knew that this was exactly how this was supposed to be, after all - after years of falling in love, what more could be said? They took it in turns offering each other kisses and exploring the body of their partner until both of them were bared to one another and there seemed to be nothing left but the act, which hung heavily in the air.

He kissed her passionately, letting his lips touch parts of her he never would have imagined being granted access to – the rose hued peaks of her breasts, the swirling hollow of her navel and lower, lower still until his kisses became intimate. When her cries of ecstasy proved almost too much even for the proudly restrained Harry Cunningham, he used his knee to part her thighs, trailing his way back up her body until he found those windows to her soul. Without words, he captured her consent and in a blissful moment he knew he would both never recall and yet most certainly not forget, they were one.

* * *

In the blurry haze which followed their oblivion some long minutes later, he found himself easily able to recall every second of their time together – they way her eyes had fought a battle with the pleasure receptors of her body, widening although she tried to close them against the incredible pleasure-pain of the moment of his entry into her most intimate cavern, the way her body rose, begging him for something more which he had been unsure of his qualification to give. He recalled the way she muttered his name until it was no longer indiscernible but a clear cry of sheer fulfilment. He smiled to himself as his fore and middle finger ran down the column of her beautiful neck and settled upon the faint imprint his teeth had made on the unblemished skin of her left shoulder forever marking her as his. More than anything though he remembered feeling like being with her had ruined him for any woman besides Nikki Alexander.

She sighed contentedly and he could feel the smile on her lips against his chest as she flexed her fingers, squeezing tenderly at his torso. "I love you." She told him, the only thing in her voice complete adoration, total honesty.

"I love you too Nikki." He replied, knowing that he would never get bored of saying those words as long as he lived.

* * *

Hours passed and he lay awake watching her as she slept, smiling as each of her exhalations caused the light dusting of hair on his chest to flutter a little. He would never tire of watching her, she was a fascination to him and right now, in the almost all-consuming darkness, was no exception. In the blackness he could make out little more than her outline but the golden curls, which spouted from her head like a fountain and splayed across his pillows, were clearer than day to him. He had been right he thought to himself, they really were twists of pure gold. This was the last thing he coherently remembered thinking as he drifted off to sleep, imagining leaving consciousness this way every night.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, he took the precious moments before her wakefulness to admire the way she looked now in the low winter sunshine, her arms spread like the wings of an angel and the twists of golden blonde curls adorning her head like a crown. She was beautiful and assuming she had meant everything she had said last night, she was his.

He slipped quietly from beneath the sheets, a little reluctantly but fully anticipating returning at the earliest convenience as he made his way to the kitchen and flicked on the coffee machine. A low rumbling laugh escaped him as the smell of garlic lingered around him and he thought of the ruined dinner he had attempted last night and everything that had followed. He crossed to the worktop as he reached for some mugs and spotted the thing which had sparked all of this. He picked it up, the metal feeling cool in his hands and turned the tiny object over and over in his hands with a sense of awe. It was truly a wonderment that this, this tiny metallic band, had been responsible for his last chance with her – this tiny twist of gold. It was a miracle and he concluded, he would have to invest in one of his own...

* * *

**Phew! There it is. You know it's taken me six days to work this one out and at almost ten thousand words, I'm not even sure it can be called a one shot anymore but I hope that you enjoyed it, I really do hope that you didn't find the amount of dialogue distracting but I wanted them to have a full thrust argument and for them to be backed into an unavoidable corner – I hope that came across. I decided to make this one 'M' just because I needed them to release some tension after the recent airing on the Beeb – anyone on Twitter will know my feelings about that!**

**Please forgive any minor editorial mistakes, they are my own and I have tried to get rid of them all. **

**This constitutes the second one in the trilogy and I hope you'll let me know what you thought – reviews are gold (pardon the pun) and tweets sassybritchelle are equally appreciated. I also thought you could help me decide what rating to make the final piece I have it all planned and I can do either with the storyline I intend to write, so I thought I'd leave it to you and judge by your reactions – what would you prefer? Let me know. Holler if you want the next one. **

**Thank you as always for reading, it means the world to me especially as this one is a beast! **

**Love always, **

_**X~Michelle~X**_


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